Already, audience members with blankets and folding chairs chose seats along the tourist walkway. They held water bottles and flipped through the program notes with interest. Hopefully no one there recognized him and wondered why the charming vineyard bachelor had suddenly changed careers.
Checking to make sure he’d tied his silver necktie straight, Michelangelo took his place at the mic. He started with Italian, then translated to English. ‘Greetings my fellow Italians. I have a special treat for you today. This wonderful orchestra visits us from Easthampton, Massachusetts. They’ve traveled a long way to play for us, and they have a wonderful program planned, starting with a well-known work by an Italian composer.’
The audience applauded, and Michelangelo did what he did best; smiled and looked good. His friends had always teased him about posing for wine commercials, but he’d only ever had eyes for working in the vineyard. Those grapevines were his home.
A home I will fight to keep.
Michelangelo introduced Ms. Maxhammer and Maestro Braun, showering them with every compliment he could think of.
The conductor walked on stage, and the orchestra stood in recognition. He clapped Michelangelo in a half-hug, and Michelangelo breathed with relief. He’d gotten through it without any real blunders. Taking a seat in the back next to the percussionists, Michelangelo searched the orchestra for Carly. If he tilted his head just right, he could see her profile as she brought her reed to her lips. As the music began, he listened for her every note.
*****
Carly had that same prickling sensation someone was watching her, and she had an idea who it was. Determined to focus on her measure-counting, she zeroed-in on her music and checked her reed. This time she’d sound like an oboe and less like a bird of prey.
Luscious chords began the opening measures to Gioachino Rossini’s Overture to The Barber of Seville. Carly took a deep breath and came in with a long, anticipation-building note that rose into a glorious melody as the strings pulsed in accompaniment and a French horn saluted with arpeggios.
Carly echoed the strings before the chain of chords from the beginning returned. Then the strings introduced the main theme everyone knew so well from all of the Bugs Bunny cartoons. Goosebumps still prickled her arms as she played the tender and teasing oboe solo.
The music crescendoed to the grand finale of the piece, echoing over the stones. Despite the long flight and small amount of sleep, the orchestra sounded amazing. Applause erupted and Carly stood with the rest of the orchestra, basking in the glow of a perfect performance. Too bad her reprieve was short-lived. That ridiculous aria loomed after the intermission like a bad dream. Even after rehearsing all night, Alaina’s tempo wasn’t sitting right.
After the applause, Carly booked it off stage. The next piece had strings only, and she needed to get to the changing rooms and squeeze herself into Alaina’s gaudy excuse for a concert gown.
The changing rooms, of course, were a makeshift tent by the bus near a Porta Potty. Edda came out of the bus drinking a bottle of water. With her short, curly dark hair and thick glasses, she looked like a sweet, little mom. ‘Can I help you, signorina?’
Carly scanned the area for Michelangelo, but he must have been announcing the intermission. ‘Yeah, I need my garment bag and a place to change.’
‘Of course. One moment.’ Edda disappeared into the bus and reappeared with the bag. Only one dress was left, meaning Alaina had already gotten the better one of the two. Not that I’d fit into hers anyway. With all of Alaina’s curves, that dress would look like a disco ball on her. Besides, she didn’t need the extra sparkles. All she needed to do was play her best. Who cared if she didn’t look half as beautiful?
With Michelangelo out there, Carly hated to admit that she just might.
‘Thank you.’ Carly took the bag and slipped into the tent.
Alaina held up her hand mirror, applying a generous glob of red lipstick. Her red hair curled in waves down her bare back and her dress glittered like a Christmas ornament. ‘Cutting it close, aren’t you? Don’t we go on in a few?’
‘I had to play in the first piece.’ Carly slipped off her black skirt. She wished she’d at least tried the dress on before they left. Changing five minutes before show time was more than risky.
She unzipped the bag and held the dress in front of her, trying to decide whether to pull it over her head or step into it.
Alaina snapped her mirror closed, looking at her as though she was a child who couldn’t tie their shoes. ‘Here, I’ll help.’
The opera diva took the dress, scrunched it up like a slinky, and held it on top of Carly’s head. ‘Hold up your arms.’
Carly did as told, exhaling all of her breath just in case she needed that little extra space to slip it on. Alaina pulled the dress over her head and down to her feet. The material felt cool and slick against her body, shimmering with her every move.
Alaina’s face fell, and her red lips pouted. ‘Oh my.’
Anxiety raced all over Carly along with the light playing off the sparkles. Oh no, the dress must look hideous. That, or I have a boob falling out.
Carly glanced down, expecting the fit to horrify her. The fabric clung to her shape in all the right places, highlighting the curve of her breasts with a slight swell around her hips. A shade darker than Alaina’s, the fabric had a dark sensuality to it that the diva’s bright dress lacked.
She glanced back up at Alaina. ‘What’s the matter?’
Alaina stared at her with an icy glare. ‘You look gorgeous. Better than me.’
She was right, but Carly didn’t want to shove it in her face. ‘I don’t know about that. Your dress is…brighter.’
‘Come on.’ Alaina took her arm. ‘We don’t have time to fix it now.’
Like Carly would want to fix it? Sure, Alaina was the real star, but just because she’d chosen a glittery bomb didn’t mean Carly couldn’t look fabulous.
They walked in silence to the archway on stage left. Michelangelo stood at the microphone, speaking in Italian. After a pause, he switched to English.
‘The next piece is an aria taken from a cantata which was commissioned to celebrate a wedding around seventeen hundred and eighteen. Titled, Give way now, dismal shadows, it speaks of cold winter transforming to spring and celebrates the dawning of new life and love.’
Or the dawning of embarrassment. Carly shifted back and forth, wanting to get the silly aria over with as soon as possible. Cocooned in her dress as she played, she felt like an oversized ballerina in a tutu that clung too tightly.
Michelangelo gestured toward them, ‘May I introduce the lovely, talented ladies, Alaina Amaldi and Carly Davis.’
Lovely? Carly flushed as she followed Alaina on stage in front of the orchestra. He’s supposed to say that. It’s his job, you idiot.
Michelangelo’s gaze swept past Alaina and settled on her. His eyes widened in shocked surprise, making her ultra-aware of the bare skin above her low-cut dress. He clasped hands with Alaina, wishing her well, then turned to Carly.
Carly reached her hand out, but Michelangelo ignored it, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. He lingered for a long heartbeat and whispered in her ear, ‘You look radiant.’
Feeling his breath on her cheek, Carly blushed and a tremble flowed through her. Turning to the audience, she felt like an ameba under the microscope. All eyes stared at her and her Italian love affair—which was never going to happen. Focus on your music, you fool.
Michelangelo exited the stage, leaving her with Alaina. The diva raised an eyebrow in a threat. The piece started with the oboe interlude. It was up to Carly to set the tone.
She checked her reed as Wolf glanced at her in anticipation. Silence reigned, and the Coliseum brimmed with expectation.
I can do this. We’ve only played it a hundred times. Carly nodded and breathed in, cueing the first note.
Eighth and sixteenth notes chirped from her oboe in a cheerful opening as the orchestra accompanied
her. She pushed the tempo to fit Alaina’s request, feeling as though she was running through a garden instead of leisurely strolling, kicking up sods of earth along the way.
Alaina came in with a bellow of vibrato. What should have been a carefree jaunt sounded more like a deluge of ostentation and glitter. Carly fought to keep up with the soprano’s odd indulgences, holding some notes out, while pushing through others. Alaina was trying too hard, resulting in a gaudy jumble of words and notes.
The aria ended with a simple cadence, putting the music out of its misery. Carly allowed a moment of silence, then released her reed from her lips. Light applause trickled through the Coliseum. Most of the spectators wouldn’t have any idea, but the ones that counted—Alaina’s newspaper reviewers—would surely tear it apart.
Carly had done the exact opposite of what she wanted: she’d looked amazing, but played like a hot mess. What have I done?
Chapter Seven
Favor
Michelangelo checked the last row of bus seats, making sure no one had left anything important behind. He’d found a few half-used water bottles, an umbrella, and a concert program. Stuffing the program into his shirt, he thought back to Carly’s duet with Alaina. She looked absolutely gorgeous in her burgundy dress, outshining the opera diva in every way.
His chest panged when he remembered her disappointed grimace as she walked off stage. He wasn’t classically trained, and the aria sounded pleasant to him despite Alaina’s earsplitting high notes. But something had gone wrong. Should he drop by Carly’s room and reassure her? It was his job to ensure the comfort of everyone in the orchestra.
‘Daydreaming, signore?’ Edda turned from her steering wheel. She still had to fill the bus with gas for their excursion to St. Peter’s Basilica and the drive to Florence in two days and was fretting about the time.
Michelangelo realized he was standing in the aisle with his arms full of trash. He smiled as though she’d caught him red-handed. ‘Something like that.’
Edda gave him a motherly smile. ‘She’s a lucky girl, whoever she is.’
He dumped the trash in a bag at the front of the bus. ‘How do you know I’m dreaming about a signorina?’
‘A young man your age needs a little love in his life.’ She glanced at his bare ring finger. ‘I’m surprised you’ve gone on this long without it.’
For a moment, he almost told her about his vineyard, and how he didn’t have the time for love. But, he couldn’t implicate her in his forgery. Best she did her job, and he his.
Michelangelo smiled. ‘Maybe now’s the time, eh?’ He said it as more of a joke to get her off his case. But, as the thought passed his mind, it left a lasting impression.
‘See you tomorrow. Enjoy your night off.’
She nodded. ‘Oh, I will. Got my grandson coming over. The child runs like a demon, destroying everything in his path.’
He gave her a look of horror and she chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Any plans for you?’
He really needed to return to his vineyard, but his contract had him attending the orchestra’s needs twenty-four seven—which was the reason for the big check at the end. ‘Not for me.’
‘Who knows, something may pop up.’ Edda must have sensed the wistfulness in his voice.
Yeah, like two hundred thousand euros? That was about the only thing that could make him happy. Well, that and spending more time with Carly. If he could make her feel better about her performance, then he’d done his job for the day. ‘Thanks, Edda.’
Michelangelo walked off the bus and toward the hotel. Three fifty-two. Carly’s room number. All he had to do was take the elevator up and stop by. He could use some excuse like checking the departure time for tomorrow’s tour of the Vatican. They had been late to the bus this morning, so a short visit wouldn’t seem too strange.
He entered the hotel, making a beeline for the elevators before he changed his mind. One compliment about her performance, that’s all. He didn’t know why, but he had a deep urge to comfort her.
What if Alaina is there as well?
Then he’d reaffirm the time with both of them, give Carly his reassurance about her performance and return to his room. What was the worst that could happen?
Michelangelo stepped into the elevator and pressed for the third floor. When he got out, the hallway was empty. Grazie a Dio. The less people who saw him here the better.
He counted the room numbers until he found three fifty-two. Excitement rushed through him. Brushing lint off the green polo he’d put on after the concert, he knocked on the door.
The door swung open, and Alaina leant on the wall, wearing black, lacy, sheer sleepwear—or underwear—he wasn’t sure. ‘Well, hello Michelangelo.’ She stepped forward and he averted his eyes from all of the porcelain flesh. ‘What can I do for you?’
He looked over her shoulder, but the room seemed empty. He cleared his throat, assuming the most professional tone he could under such circumstances. ‘I wanted to reaffirm the time for the tour tomorrow.’
‘Reaffirm away.’ She trailed her long-nailed finger up and down the side of the door.
‘The bus leaves at nine a.m. sharp. Can you make sure Carly receives my message?’
Alaina waved her finger in the air. ‘Of course.’
‘Good.’ He moved to leave, and her hand darted at him like a viper, grabbing his arm. ‘You can’t fool me. I know why you’re here.’
His heart sped into high gear. ‘Excuse me?’ Did she know about his attraction to Carly? He hadn’t exactly done his best to hide it.
‘Come in and I’ll show you.’
Or worse: did she have some sort of evidence about his tour guide history—or lack thereof? Was she going to blackmail him? He only had about ten euros left to his name.
Michelangelo stepped in. ‘My apologies, signorina. I have no idea what you are referring to.’
‘This.’
Before he could take a breath, Alaina pushed herself against him, pressing her sticky, lipstick-coated mouth to his.
*****
If bombing the aria wasn’t enough, Carly had another message from Dino on her phone. As everyone else shuffled upstairs, she found a quiet reception room and called her voicemail. Crossing her fingers, she hoped he wasn’t dropping her as a performer.
Dino’s voice came on the line. ‘Carly. Babe. Boy, do I have a gig for you this Friday night.’
Carly breathed with relief, then rolled her eyes as the word Friday sank in. Didn’t he hear her the first time? She was four thousand miles from Boston. That was quite some mileage to pay. She prepared to be majorly disappointed.
‘It’s at the—’ He paused as if he either forgot the name or couldn’t pronounce it. ‘Cesari Amento, located right in the center of Rome.’
Wait a sec. Did he say Rome?
Carly ended the message and pressed speed dial.
‘Dirty Dancing DJs.’
‘Dino. It’s Carly.’
‘I knew you’d be a-callin’’ Dino sounded like he was grinning at the same time as he spoke.
‘How did you—’
‘I pulled some strings. A former DJ of mine opened a business in Milan. He books all of Italy, and I thought—why not. Let’s give it a try.’
‘That’s wonderful. The orchestra is off that night. I’m totally free.’ Did she sound too desperate? She didn’t care.
‘How much Italian do you speak?’
Carly froze. Never say no to a gig if you can help it. ‘Some.’ Meaning Si and Grazie. Oh, and signore. Put them together and she could say Yes, thank you, Mr. At least that’s what she thought.
‘Great. I’ll hook you up. Their oboist dropped out last minute—hand problems or something. Anyways, the contact name is Vinci Romano, the lead violinist in the chamber group, and the booker is Mario Gallo.’
‘Mario, as in the video game?’
‘Yes, as in the video game. But, don’t tell him that.’
Carly laughed. ‘Don’
t worry. My lips are sealed.’
Dino typed in the background. ‘I’m sending you the times and address in an e-mail.’
Address. Carly hadn’t thought about how she’d get there. Guess I’ll have to call a cab.
‘Thanks, Dino. I owe you one.’
‘No, I owe you. Expanding my business overseas is a dream I’ve had for a long time.’
Wow, getting on Dino’s good side was a score. ‘I’ll make sure to do a good job, then.’
‘You always do, babe.’
She ended the conversation and hung up. Looks like the day is shaping up after all. She only had to gloss over one little detail. She couldn’t speak Italian to save her life.
Carly needed an Italian teacher, like, yesterday, and only one person came to mind.
Michelangelo.
Drat. Hadn’t she vowed to stay away from him? Could she really control herself if he hit on her again?
She’d have to chance it. Gathering her oboe case and purse, Carly approached the front desk and asked for Michelangelo’s room number, saying she had some sort of problem with the tour to resolve. They gave it to her right away.
Carly stepped in the elevator and pressed his floor. Waiting for the door to open, she rehearsed what she’d say. Please teach me Italian in twenty-four hours. Every excuse she came up with sounded crazy, so she decided to stick with the truth.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. She stepped out and followed the numbers to his room at the end of the hall.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. Sheepishly, she smoothed down her black blouse and knocked on the door.
No answer.
Maybe he was an early sleeper.
She pushed away yet another image of Michelangelo in his boxer shorts and knocked again.
Nothing.
He must be helping someone else resolve an issue about the tour.
Dammit. She needed him now. How could she learn anything tomorrow in St. Peter’s Basilica while he regaled the orchestra with historical facts?
An American Girl in Italy Page 5